Phobias
by RascalJoy
Summary: It was stupid. It was irrational. Dick knew that. There was no good reason for him to be afraid; he had been doing this for most of his young life. And yet... Five times Dick fell, and the one time Robin didn't.
1. Prologue

**5-30-14**

**Hello, everyone! Wow, look at me...two new stories in one night! :D The other one is a one-shot called "I Never Got to Say Goodbye." There has been much Dick!whumpage this night...**

**Anyway, I was originally going to post this story all in one block. But then everything started getting REALLY long, and I decided to just make it a chapter story.**

**So this is basically a "Five times he couldn't, and the one time he could" sort of story. I've read lots of these, and TOTALLY love the idea, so I thought I'd do one of my own.**

**Now this is based on a head canon that Dick would be hesitant to get back in the air after watching his parents fall to their deaths. Not because he's afraid of flying, but because he's afraid of the alternative: falling. I'm pretty sure something like this has been done before, but hey, here's my spin on it.**

**Woo, long author's note...**

**Enjoy! **

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_Gotham City  
April 14, 13:04 EDT_

It was stupid. It was irrational. Dick knew that. There was no good reason for him to be afraid; he had been doing this for most of his young life. And yet...

His fingers flexed around the white bar in his hands, sweat forcing its way through the protective layer of chalk on his palms. He'd checked the lines. He'd checked them twice. He stared down over the twenty foot drop below him; in all reality, a very low height compared to what his parents used to do, and they didn't even have a safety net.

His parents.

Dick's breath hitched as their flailing bodies appeared in his mind's eye, falling, falling, falling, crashing into the hard packed ground below, their limbs twisted unnaturally as their dead, glassy eyes stared up at him.

He let go of the trapeze like it had caught fire, stumbling away away from the edge until he bumped into the wall on the other side of the platform. Anything to get away from that drop. He sank to the ground, unable to meet the eyes of the man standing a few feet to his left.

"I—I—," Dick stammered, struggling to stop his lips from quivering as tears clouded his vision.

The man stepped toward him, and Dick involuntarily flinched, half expecting to be scolded for his cowardice. But the man just knelt down beside him, a large hand lifting his small chin up until Dick found himself looking up into the dark eyes of Bruce Wayne.

"I know," Bruce said softly. "It's okay, Dick."

Against Dick's will, the tears began to fall. He sniffled softly, wiping a small hand over his eyes and getting chalk on his face in the process. He hated showing weakness in front of the man who had taken him in, hated the fact that he couldn't seem to do what had used to come as easily as breathing to him just a few weeks ago: flying like a bird. He could almost hear his mother's voice, crooning softly to him, calling him her little robin...

Despite his best efforts, Dick began to sob, the pain of losing his parents just thirteen days ago still fresh in his heart.

Bruce hesitated for only a moment before pulling the distraught boy awkwardly onto his lap.

Dick burrowed his face into Bruce's chest, clutching the fabric of the man's sweater tightly in his fingers as he tried to control the heartbroken sounds erupting from his mouth. Why'd they have to die? What did Dick ever do wrong to deserve this? It took a long time, longer than Dick would have liked, but finally his sobs calmed to the occasional sniffle.

He pulled his face out of the man's shirt, now soaked with Dick's snot and tears. A wave of fear rolled through him; what if the man was angry that Dick had ruined his shirt? What if he would send him back to the orphanage? What if—

"Are you ready to go back down?" a gruff voice asked.

Dick glanced up, his red-rimmed blue eyes still twinkling with tears. He was startled to find that the man didn't look angry in the slightest; in fact his expression seemed...sympathetic. In the few days he had lived with this man, he hadn't seen him show hardly any emotion; he'd begun to think of him as a brick wall: silent, unmoving, and grey.

"I—I'm sorry," Dick whispered. "I didn't mean to ruin your shirt."

The man raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised at his statement. "I've got plenty more."

There was a slightly awkward silence while Dick attempted to wipe his dripping nose on his unitard.

"It's about dinner time. Alfred will be waiting," Bruce said, moving to stand up.

Dick quickly scrambled off his lap, not wanting to push his luck too much. He still wasn't sure what the proper way was to act around the billionaire, and Bruce didn't seem entirely sure how to deal with him either. It was clear that Bruce had no experience raising a child, and Dick didn't have any close up experience with what his dad had called "city folk." All the same, Dick was grateful the man had taken him in; he just wished that he was more like his father.

Dick watched apprehensively as Bruce began to climb down the ladder bolted to the side of the platform.

Bruce seemed to sense his hesitance, stopping partway down to look up at the young face staring down at him, eyes wide with fear. "Come along, now," he said, trying to sound as gentle as he could. "I'll be right here to catch you if you fall."

Dick paused for a second longer, than cautiously swung his leg over the edge and onto the top rung of the ladder. He slowly began to climb down, flinching every time the rungs creaked under his weight, checking behind him occasionally to make sure Bruce was still under him. When his feet finally touched the ground, he let out a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Bruce standing over him, as impassive as always, the rare display of emotion already a distant memory.

"Let's go get you cleaned up," Bruce said.

Dick looked down at the soaked front of his unitard, reflexively brushing his hands over it in an attempt to wipe it off, but only succeeding in adding chalk to the mess. "Sorry," he whispered again.

A heavy hand placed itself on his shoulder and Dick flinched.

"Nothing to be sorry about, kid."

Dick allowed himself to be steered out of the vast gym, taking one last look at the lonely trapeze still hanging above the platform before Bruce closed the door behind them and it was lost to sight.

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**So what do you think? Too dramatic? Unrealistic? Let me know in a review! Constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated.**

**Okay, so here's the deal: I have two out of five chapters already written for this story. I know, I know, I really should finish my stories before I publish them, but I just couldn't help myself! I'm hoping that by publishing the prologue, it'll get my fingers flying for the rest of it.**

**Expect the next update within the next couple of days depending on my progress! And by the way, the chapters will be WAY longer than this.**


	2. Chapter 1

**6-6-14**

**Thanks so much for all the support, guys! You wouldn't believe how awesome it is to find your inbox bursting with follows and favorites :) And a review!**

**Okay, so there's a couple things I want to clear up before you read this chapter, so bear with me here: I honestly have not read very many of the Batman comics, and have relied on cartoons and other people's fanfiction for things like character origins. As a result, I have very mixed reviews on what happened to Dick after his parents died, and before he was brought into Wayne Manor. A couple fics put the poor boy in the Juvenile Detention Center, and that one kinda stood out to me. So that's the one I'm using.**

**Also, I don't mean to make Dick out as a crybaby. I'll say that right now. But no matter how strong we know our little bird is, I believe that it would take a little while before he springs back after watching his parents plummet to their deaths. Just want to make that clear!**

**Sorry for the long author's note! And just in case you were wondering, yes, I did change the summary a little bit to better fit the story.**

**Now, here's the official chapter one! **

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_1._

_One week later..._

_Gotham City  
April 21, 17:45 EDT_

Dick sat on the counter in the mansion's vast kitchen, swinging his legs gently as he absentmindedly crunched on an apple, watching Alfred cook dinner.

Dick liked the old butler. He always found time to play with Dick, telling him stories about the troublesome boy that had grown up to be Bruce Wayne, always having a plate of fresh-baked cookies and a glass of milk waiting for him when he came home from school. Alfred made the best cookies.

"Alfred?" he called, cocking his head to the side as something occurred to him.

"Yes, Master Richard?" the butler asked, his quaint British accent causing Dick to giggle quietly.

"Stop calling me that," he protested. "My name's Dick. And I'm not a master."

"Whatever you say, Master Dick," the butler replied, amusement glittering in his eyes.

Dick wrinkled his nose at the old butler, knowing that no amount of arguing on his part would change Alfred's mind. "Fine. I was just wondering where Bruce went last night."

Alfred tensed for a moment, then relaxed just as quickly. But not before Dick caught his mistake. "What do you mean, Master Dick?" Dick could hear the slight wariness in the butler's tone, and his curiosity was instantly piqued.

"I woke up to hear footsteps in the hallway," Dick said, which was only half true. He had been woken up by one of his frequent nightmares and heard the footsteps, but he wasn't about to tell Alfred that.

Alfred considered his question, thinking carefully about his answer. "Master Bruce has trouble sleeping," he said finally. "He often gets up and walks around to calm himself down again." Not entirely a lie.

Alfred turned back to the pot simmering over the stove, clearly indicating that this conversation was over.

Dick cocked his head to the side, studying the spotless back of Alfred's suit. Alfred's answer had only served to increase his suspicion that Bruce was hiding something. During the short time Dick had lived here, he had all ready noticed a lot of strange things that he couldn't account for: Bruce showing up downstairs in the mornings with mysterious bruises and other injuries, the way he seemed to disappear for hours on end even though Dick had never seen him leave the house, and the strict training schedule the man kept in the gym. Now Dick had mysterious late night walks to add to his list. An idea began to flicker in the back of his mind, but before he could pursue it, an irritated harrumph came from across the kitchen.

Dick looked up curiously to see Alfred standing on a bar stool, his arm stretched high over his head as he tried to reach a large bag of flour on a high shelf. However, despite his best efforts, the butler's hand scrabbled uselessly almost a full six inches below his target. The butler sighed in frustration, climbing from his perch and wiping a hand over his brow.

"I knew I shouldn't have asked Master Bruce to place the extra flour up there," Alfred huffed. He turned to Dick, an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry, Master Dick, but the cookies will have to wait until Master Bruce returns."

Dick considered the offending bag of flour as Alfred walked off, muttering something about searching the pantry. His eyes cast around the kitchen, taking in the bar stool, the shelf on which the flour rested, and the tall fridge just to the right of the shelf. He really wanted those cookies.

Dick waited until Alfred had disappeared into the massive pantry on the other side of the room, then lowered himself carefully off of the island, throwing his apple core into the trash can. He backed up a few steps, mentally planning his route. He took a deep breath, wiping his hands on his jeans.

Then he shot forward, taking the ten steps toward the bar stool as fast as he could. He launched himself into the air, doing a back handspring off of the seat and flipping upright in the air, latching his fingers onto the top of the fridge. He clambered on top, waiting just long enough to make sure the fridge wouldn't fall over before running across it and leaping across the five foot gap between him and the shelf. He landed on the narrow piece of wood, which was just wide enough for him to stand with his feet together and six inches to spare. He snatched the bag of flour, grinning in triumph; until he realized that there was no way he could drag a twenty-five pound bag of flour down to the ground. Wait a second...

He started in shock. He glanced over the edge, gasping in horror as he realized he was now fifteen feet in the air. His knees began to shake, and he fell to a crouch, too terrified to remain standing. He lurched forward, clutching at the bag of flour like a lifeline. The bag of flour didn't appreciate that.

It listed forward, and he screeched in terror as it pitched over the edge, taking Dick with it.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion. This was it. He was going to smash into the ground and die just like his parents. He briefly wondered if it would hurt, and if so, how long he would live. He hoped Alfred would appreciate the flour.

Suddenly, Dick heard a shout of surprise, a rush of footsteps, and he landed hard on something warm and rough, the air whooshing out of him. Spots danced before his eyes, and he gasped as he struggled to regain his breath. He dimly heard a loud thud off to his right, followed by the feeling of dust settling over him, filling his all ready fatigued lungs. He began to hack and cough, struggling to get the offending stuff out of his air passages. Whatever he had landed on moved, and something pressed a cloth to his mouth and nose to shield them from the dust. When the spots faded and he could breathe again, he found himself staring up at the concerned and very white face of Bruce Wayne.

Dick blinked slowly. "Did you die too?"

Dark eyes blinked at him from under the mask of white, then the man shook his head like the dogs back at the circus after a bath, sending the white dust flying everywhere.

Dick decided that it looked a lot like flour.

Footsteps echoed from the pantry, and Alfred appeared in the doorway. When he saw them, his eyes widened, his usually composed features taking on a shocked expression. "What on _earth _happened in here?"

Dick finally took a look at his surroundings: everything was covered in a thin veil of white dust, a big pile of the stuff on the floor with a now empty flour sack lying in the middle.

Dick glanced curiously up at Bruce, who now looked more like a ghost with the flour still covering him. "Are we all dead?"

Bruce arched an eyebrow. "No."

Dick scrunched his eyebrows together. "Then why is everything white?"

"That would be the flour," Alfred said stiffly. Then, something dawned on him. "The flour... Master Richard, did you try to retrieve the flour from the shelf?"

Dick looked up, just able to discern the outline of the shelf in the cloud of flour that hung in the air. "Yes?" he said uncertainly.

"He did," Bruce announced. "I walked in just in time to see him and the bag fall."

Only then did Dick realize that he was very much alive. He blinked owlishly at Bruce, the realization that he had come very close to falling to his death, just like his parents, sinking in.

He began to cry, tears wending trails through the flour that covered his cheeks, thick drops landing on his lap and rolling off onto the floor.

"I—I just wanted to get the flour for Alfred," he whimpered, before breaking down completely.

He had almost died. After all that effort to keep his feet on the ground, to avoid a fate like his parents', and he'd almost blown it trying to get a sack of flour.

Bruce shifted underneath him, sending another cloud of dust into the air. Both males began to cough as, once again, the flour filled their nostrils.

Alfred hurried to their sides, dragging the hacking pair to their feet and out of the kitchen, sending even more flour swirling up around them.

By the time they exited the affected room, all were coughing their lungs out and covered in a fine layer of white.

Alfred began to brush them off, Dick coughing and hiccuping between sobs.

"I'm sorry," he cried miserably. "P-please don't s-send me away."

Bruce and Alfred looked at each other, surprised.

Bruce knelt down to Dick's level, placing his hands on the small boy's shoulder's. "Now why would I do that?"

Dick sniffed, trying to stem his tears. "Because—because I made a mess. And—and Tommy said—" He stuttered to a halt, unable to voice his thoughts.

"What did Tommy say?" Bruce said gently, not having a clue who Tommy was.

"He—he said—that if I didn't behave myself, you would send me right back to the juvie," Dick mumbled. He looked up, his blue eyes reflecting such hurt Bruce felt his heart melt right through his shoes. "Please don't send me back to the juvie. The boys there...don't like me very much."

Oh. So Tommy must have been someone Dick had met during the few days he'd spent at the Juvenile Detention Center before Bruce got the guardian paperwork sorted out.

Bruce pulled the still flour-caked boy into a hug, rubbing circles on his back. "I won't send you away, Dickie. Not ever. You're staying right here with me."

Dick stared at him, wide-eyed. "You're—you're not mad?"

Bruce gave the boy a small smile. "Of course I'm mad. You just ruined my kitchen and my second best suit. But that doesn't mean I'm going to send you away."

Dick's face was a mixture of relief and confusion.

"But you want to know what matters the most?" Bruce said.

Dick looked at him curiously. "What?"

"You didn't get hurt," Bruce said.

Dick looked surprised. "Oh."

"I'll go get the broom," Alfred said, walking off like a pale specter down the hall.

Bruce and Dick remained in awkward silence for a moment, neither quite sure what to do.

"Why do we fall, Dick?" Bruce said, almost without thinking.

Dick's face scrunched up adorably as he thought about the question. "Because gravity decided it was time to come down," he announced.

Bruce's mouth quirked up in a smile as he let loose a short bark of laughter. "That's one way of thinking of it. Another—"

At that moment, Alfred returned with a broom and Bruce started, looking almost embarrassed.

The butler gave him an incredulous look, then continued on into the kitchen, broom held at the ready. "Might I suggest that you get yourself and the young master cleaned up, Master Bruce?" he called from the doorway. "Dinner should be ready within an hour, depending on how long it takes to sweep up this flour."

Bruce hauled himself to his feet, leaning down and pulling Dick up to stand beside him. "Actually, I think we'll help you, Alfred." He disappeared down the hall, returning with a dustpan and, for whatever reason, a feather duster. He passed the dustpan to Dick, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the kitchen. "You hold the pan, and I'll sweep the flour in," Bruce ordered.

Dick nodded his understanding.

Bruce stopped just outside the doorway, taking a deep breath as he gazed into the impenetrable cloud of flour in the room beyond. "Are you ready for battle, soldier?"

Dick looked up in surprise. A grin slowly spread over his features when he saw the mischievous light dancing in Bruce's dark eyes. He stood up straight, saluting with his empty hand. "Yes, sir!"

Bruce hefted the feather duster. "Charge!"

And together, the two barreled into the flour storm.

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**So what did you think? Too descriptive? Too emotional? Let me know in a review! Constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated.**

**By the way guys, I REALLY appreciate all the follows and favorites. Really. But a review or two would be nice. Please? I love getting input on my stories! And besides, it might encourage me to write faster! *Wink wink* ;3**

**So the next chapter is written, but the last four aren't, so it might take a bit for the next update. However, this is promising to be a very nice, quiet weekend, so I'll probably get a lot more writing done :)**

**While you're waiting, you might as well check out my other stories ;)**

**See y'all next time!**


	3. Chapter 2

**6-13-14**

**Wow, guys, thanks for all the support! Thank you to everyone who followed, favorited, and reviewed!**

**So, this chapter by itself is longer than the previous one plus its author's note. So yeah, longest chapter yet, and probably the longest in this story.**

**Once again, limited knowledge as to what's canon, so sorry if there are any mistakes!**

**Enjoy!**

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_2._

_Five days later..._

_Gotham City  
April 26, 10:24 EDT_

Dick stood nervously at the entrance to the Gotham Elementary playground, slightly unsure of what to do. He fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt, watching as kids ran around the play structure. Dick had never been to a "typical playground" before. Growing up in the circus, he spent all his spare time practicing his acrobatics and swinging on a trapeze. He had had no need of a play set when anything and everything was his personal play place. Well, except for Mr. Haly's trailer. And Peter's throwing knives. And Mr. Zorro's magic hat. And...

A familiar hand placed itself on his shoulder and Bruce's deep voice broke through his thoughts. "What's wrong?"

Dick shrugged, twisting his shirt around his fingers. "I've never really played with..._normal_ kids before."

Bruce chuckled, the comforting sound making Dick feel minutely better. "I'm sure you'll be fine. The playground is a good place to make friends during the summer. Don't you want to get to know the kids who'll be in your class at school?"

Dick wrinkled his nose in disgust, scuffing his shoe on the ground as tears welled up in his eyes. "I've never been to school before," he announced. "Mommy and Daddy and the rest of the troupe homeschooled me."

Bruce hesitated. He squeezed the boy's shoulder awkwardly. "You'll be fine," he repeated.

"Hey, Bruce!"

Dick glanced up to see a man striding toward them, a wide smile on his face. He appeared to be around Bruce's age, maybe older, with slightly greying red hair and a bushy mustache. His eyes twinkled merrily in the sunlight, and his smile warmed Dick down to his toes.

Bruce returned the smile, reaching out to shake the man's hand. "Commissioner Gordon! It's good to see you. How's it going down at the station?"

The man shrugged. "Eh, it's going." Then he caught sight of Dick, and his smile softened. He knelt before him, his kindly eyes sparkling. "And you must be Richard."

"Dick," Dick corrected reflexively.

At the man's surprised expression, Bruce quickly clarified: "He prefers to be called Dick."

"Oh," the Commissioner said, his features relaxing. He smiled again, crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes. "Well, hello, Dick. How're you liking Gotham so far?"

Dick considered the question. "It's nice," he said finally.

The man ruffled the boy's hair. "I'm glad to hear it." He stood up, brushing the dirt off of his khakis. "Well, a recent police report told me that someone was getting a little lonely being cooped up in that big old mansion for so long with only two stuffy old fogies to play with."

Bruce frowned. "I'm still younger than you, Jim."

The Commissioner looked at Dick, jerking a thumb over at Bruce. "So he keeps saying." He covered his mouth with his hand, leaning down and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Sometimes I think he's got bats in his belfry."

Dick grinned at the man, giggling slightly. He decided that he liked this Commissioner Gordon. He reminded him of Mr. Haly.

Gordon straightened again, smiling innocently at Bruce's scowling expression. "Anyway, I thought you could use a playmate." He turned toward the playground, raising a cupped hand to his mouth. "Barbara! Could you come here for a moment, please?"

Dick curiously looked to the playground, searching for the person Mr. Gordon had been calling. A few of the children had looked up minutely at the initial shouting, but all had returned to whatever they were doing soon after.

"Hi!"

Dick's head jerked around in surprise. He gasped. Standing in front of him was a girl—a very pretty girl. Her fiery red hair shimmered in the midmorning sun, her turquoise eyes as bright as her gleaming white smile.

She stuck her hand out to him. "My name's Barbara. What's yours?"

Dick realized he was staring like an idiot. He closed his mouth quickly, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks as he shook her hand. "Dick," he murmured, staring at his toes.

Barbara's smile widened. "Well, hi, Dick. You wanna come play with me? I managed to save a couple of swings."

Dick gaped at her. He looked uncertainly up at Bruce. To his surprise, there was a small smile on his guardian's face.

Bruce gave a slight nod, encouraging him to accept.

Dick turned back to Barbara. "Um...sure."

The blinding smile returned to her face. "Great!" She snatched Dick's hand again, and before he could protest, was dragging him across the playground to the currently empty swings. "We have to hurry before someone takes them!"

Dick allowed himself to be dragged along, missing the knowing smiles passed between the men behind him. He looked around in awe as they passed various play structures, the brightly colored plastic and metal glinting merrily in the warm sun. Kids swung around on various bars that looked like horizontal ladders, sliding down long ramps that sometimes curled or bumped along the way down. He stumbled to a stop as the girl pulling him skidded to a halt in front of what Dick assumed was a swing. He studied the structure, deciding it looked a lot like a low, thick, curved trapeze.

Barbara released his hand in favor of latching onto the chain on one of the swings, turning around and hopping into the seat. She patted the swing next to her. "You can have this one."

Dick hesitantly turned around, sitting down on the somewhat flimsy material. The chains grew taught, the seat dipping with his weight and bending into a neat U shape. He examined the chains he hung by, noting the shiny metal and lack of rust. The seat material seemed sturdy enough despite its flexibility, supporting his weight easily. Satisfied that it wouldn't fall out from under him, he glanced over at Barbara, wondering what to do next. To his surprise, the swing next to him was gone. "Barb—"

"Whee!"

Dick yelped in surprise as Barbara came into his view, going backwards through the air. He turned, watching as the girl's momentum ran out and she paused momentarily midair before sticking her legs straight out and swinging forward and up, seemingly trying to touch the sky.

"Come on, dummy!" she cried. "Don't just sit there! Swing with me!"

Dick studied the swinging girl, watching as she went back and forth, back and forth. It seemed to have something to do with how she moved her legs...

Suddenly, Barbara stuck her feet down, scraping the ground with her shoes. After a couple more passes, she planted her feet into the mulch, bringing herself to a complete stop. She turned to stare at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong? Haven't you ever seen a swing before?"

Heat crept up Dick's cheeks. "Not really," he admitted.

An incredulous look appeared on Barbara's face. "Seriously? Your parents never took you to a playground?"

Dick studied the legs of his jeans, rubbing a finger against the rough fabric. "No."

Barbara frowned, as if that information didn't line up.

Dick waited with baited breath, silently willing her not to pursue the matter.

After a moment, her expression cleared. "I suppose I'll just have to show you, then."

Dick blinked in confusion. "Show me what?"

"How to pump a swing, you dummy," Barbara giggled. She slowly backed up, keeping herself firmly in the seat, stopping when she couldn't go back any farther. Then she lifted her feet from the ground and swung forward, her legs straight out in front of her. It was an admittedly small arc compared to how high she'd been going earlier, and she quickly lost speed. She bent her knees, leaning forward and pushing the swing back. "It's all about building up momentum," Barbara explained, continuing to pump herself back and forth. "The more you give it, the higher you go."

"Like on a trapeze?" Dick asked, a strange little shiver running up his spine.

She turned to face the still-grounded Dick, eyebrows raised. "Yeah. Something like that. Now you try."

Dick walked backwards, mimicking what he'd seen Barbara do a moment before. The chains grew taught beneath his fingers, his feet just touching the ground. Then he jumped up, allowing the swing to carry him forward. He began to pump, struggling to catch up with the rapidly ascending Barbara.

"You got it!" Barbara called down encouragingly. "Just keep going."

Back and forth, back and forth. A small thrill of excitement vibrated through him as he began to gain altitude, coming level with Barbara. He laughed excitedly, the sound carrying throughout the park as he swooped up and down, his feet stretching up into seemingly endless blue above him.

"So," Barbara said casually as they swung side-by-side. "Where are you from? I know Bruce is your adopted father—"

"Guardian," Dick corrected. He glanced at her suspiciously. "How'd you know that?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "My dad and Bruce have known each other since forever. My dad told me about you." She glanced at him curiously. "Where _are_ you from?" she repeated.

Dick turned and continued pumping, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. "The circus."

Barbara's eyes widened. "Wow. Really?"

"Yep."

Barbara raised an eyebrow, disbelief etched in her features. "You're pulling my leg," she decided.

Dick scowled at her. "Am not. I did trapeze."

Barbara's eyebrow went higher, her lips curling up in a smirk. "Prove it."

A jolt of fear shot through him, and he could swear he could see his parents falling beneath his swinging legs. He swallowed thickly. "I'll pass."

Barbara gave him a strange look. "Okay, then. I would have thought a circus kid would love to show off."

Dick shrugged, keeping his eyes glued on his pumping feet.

They continued swinging in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Hey," Barbara called suddenly. "Stop for a moment."

Reluctantly, Dick dug his feet into the ground as he'd seen her do, jerking himself to a stop. He frowned at her. "What?"

Mischievousness sparkled briefly in Barbara's eyes, disappearing almost as fast as it appeared. "Would you like me to push you?"

Dick cocked his head to the side, confused. "What?"

"Push you on the swing, silly," Barbara said. "You'll go much higher that way."

Dick hesitated, a small spark of fear burning in the back of his mind. But the thrill of flying through the air, the excitement from swooping like a bird in the sky overwhelmed him, urging him to go to even greater heights. "Yes, please," he said eagerly.

Barbara smiled almost evilly, jumping off her swing and coming up behind him. "Hold on," she warned, grabbing the swing and pulling him off the ground. He felt hands shove him in the back, propelling him forward. With every push, he felt himself swing a little higher. He began to feel almost weightless as the height increased, going much higher than he'd been going on his own power. "Um, Barbara?" he said hesitantly. "Can you slow down?"

"Oh come on," Barbara chided. "You're not chickening out now, are you? I thought you did trapeze."

Dick gritted his teeth, gripping the chains so tightly his knuckles turned white. As he swung forward, all he could see was sky, giving the illusion that he was air born. His bottom came minutely off the seat before slamming back down again as he swung backward.

Dick clutched at the chains, blood pounding through his ears as he found himself facing the ground, the links once again going slack before tightening as he began his forward curve. Sweat erupted on his palms, his fingers suddenly feeling numb and frozen. "Stop!" he cried, his breath wheezing through his lips as his grip began to slip.

"Just one more," Barbara insisted, shoving him hard in the back.

He crested forward, rising to the peak of his forward climb...and the chains slipped through his fingers. Terror tore through him as he actually flew through the air, his hands clawing for nonexistent handholds. Instinct took over as he began to fall downwards, turning a forward somersault and twisting midair so he was facing the swing set and a horrified Barbara Gordon. He landed on his feet, his knees bending to absorb the impact. He sprang upright, his arms spread habitually toward his "audience."

Every person in the area, parent and child alike, had their eyes on him.

Dick lowered his arms, slightly unnerved by their wide-eyed stares.

A slow clapping sound echoed in the silence, and he turned to see Barbara approaching him. She whistled appreciatively, smiling shakily. "Well, what do you know. You are a circus kid."

Bruce and Commissioner Gordon came running up to him, worry and amazement etched on their faces.

"Dick, are you okay?" Bruce asked, crouching before his ward.

Dick stared at him. Then, without warning, he flung himself into his guardian's arms, gripping the back of the man's suit tightly. His entire body trembled in shock, but Bruce was surprised and relieved to see that no tears came from the young boy's eyes. "Fine," Dick whispered.

After a moment, Bruce carefully pulled away, a small smile quirking at the corners of his lips. "That's the first time I've seen you flip around since nearly a month ago."

Dick blinked, realization dawning in his baby blues. "Oh." This was the first time he'd performed any form of aerial acrobatics since his parents' "accident." He realized with surprise that even though he had been scared out of his mind...he'd actually reveled in the freedom as he shot through the sky.

"I'm so sorry," Barbara babbled as she reached them. "I didn't know your grip was slipping. I should've known to stop, you could've gotten hurt, you—"

"It's okay," Dick interrupted. He turned to look at her over his shoulder, a small smile on his face. "Circus kid, remember?"

Barbara looked at him in surprise, a grin slowly stretching across her face. "Yeah."

Just then, something chirped. Bruce reached into his pocket, peeking at his cellphone. He glanced at his watch and frowned. Replacing the phone in his pocket, he placed both hands on the boy's shoulders. "Listen, Dick, I've got to go to a meeting now. Is it okay if I leave you here with Mr. Gordon for a little while? Or would you rather go home with Alfred?"

Dick stared at the Commissioner, a thoughtful expression on his face. Suddenly, he brightened. "Will Barbara stay too?"

Jim smiled. "Of course, sport."

"Then I want to stay," Dick decided. A sheepish expression came over his face as his guardian raised an eyebrow. "Um, if that's okay with you."

Bruce clapped him lightly on the back. "Of course, chum." He got to his feet, gesturing toward the now beaming Barbara. "Now go have fun."

Dick turned toward her, a somewhat devilish grin on his face. "You _so_ owe me, Babs."

Now it was Barbara's turn to quirk an eyebrow. "Babs?"

"Your new nickname," Dick announced, running forward and snatching her hand. "Get used to it. Now come on, let's do that horizontal ladder thingie."

"How about 'monkey bars,' Bird Boy?" Babs suggested.

"Yeah, those," Dick agreed. He paused. _"Bird Boy?"_

"Your new nickname," Barbara cried, sprinting ahead of him. "Get used to it. Race you!"

* * *

**So what do you think? Were the Gordons OOC? Was it too drawn out? Too ****descriptive? Let me know in a review!**

**Also, you wouldn't BELIEVE how hard it is to try and explain what a swing looks like and how it works. It's one of those things you never would expect to describe, you know? :P Sorry if it's weird that Dick has never seen a swing before. In my head, he practically lived in the circus camp. Kind of one of those situations where you go and see a lot of places, but don't really explore. I just thought it would be cute. Sorry if it bothered you :P**

**So, the next couple weeks are about to get EXTREMELY busy, so I'm going to apologize ahead of time if I don't update on time! We're going to go on vacation with another family, so I'll have little to no writing time. Plus, the bedroom I sleep in doesn't have wifi. So yeah, make that no writing time :P**

**I'm taking the ACT tomorrow... Wish me luck!**

**Hopefully see y'all soon! Don't forget to review! (It'll make me feel better after a long morning of testing ;D)**


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